


The Beginning of a Revolution

by asimplechord



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:20:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8069629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asimplechord/pseuds/asimplechord
Summary: Parise and Suter, who came to the Wild as a free-agent tag team two summers ago, roomed together[...].





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bestliars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestliars/gifts).



> Inspired by [this reblog](http://bestliars.tumblr.com/post/148700427662/indignantminnesotan-sometimes-i-think-about-how), so I hope you like it, bestliars.
> 
> Thanks to J for the read-through and catching my mistakes. Any remaining errors are all me.
> 
> Title shamelessly stolen from [this](https://unitedstatesofhockey.com/2012/04/21/april-21-2002-the-beginning-of-a-revolution/) blog about the team that won the 2002 U18s.
> 
> As always, this is a work of fiction not meant to imply anything about actual people as opposed to public personas. If you got here by googling yourself or someone you know, please don't tell me.

1\. 21 April 2002, Piestany, Slovakia

This is not Ryan’s bed. This is not Ryan’s bedroom. It’s not even Ryan’s hotel room. His head is pounding, his mouth tastes like something died in it, and he has no idea how someone can make a single room look like such a disaster area. There are clothes scattered across the floor, empty Gatorade bottles littering the chest of drawers and bedside table, and an empty suitcase propped open on the room’s sole chair.

Ryan closes his eyes to shut out the horror, and is contemplating sleeping the rest of his hangover off when the sound of the en-suite shower cuts off. 

A cloud of steam wafts into the room when the door opens, and Parise—Zach— comes out, one towel wrapped around his hips, one scrubbing his hair dry. Instead of going to the dresser— of course, there’s probably nothing in there, everything is on the floor—he drops both towels and paws through one of the piles of cotton and denim until he finds what he’s looking for.

Ryan watches Zach tug boxers up over fingerprint bruises on his hips, and isn’t sure if it’s his hangover or something else that makes his stomach tighten. He’s still trying to figure that out when Zach’s head pops through the collar of his Twins t-shirt. 

“Hey, if you want to get breakfast with Stuie and Pat, I can lend you a shirt and sweats.” Zach waves at the pile he just pulled his shirt from.

Not even the quirk of his dimple and the memory of the medal-winning goal is inducement enough for that. Ryan levers himself up and finds yesterday’s pants, crumpled and beer-damp in their own small heap next to the bed.

“Gimme ten, I’ll be right back.”

 

2\. 5 January 2003, Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada

“Fucking hell, Zach, you’re such a slob. Can you clean up your shit for once—oh my god, I am so sorry.”

It is maybe not Ryan’s finest moment. Possibly he should have checked that Zach was alone when he heard the click of the hotel room door opening.

Zach’s mom just laughs, though. “I tried for years to get him to clean his room. Eventually I just let it be. I can only imagine what his dorm room looks like. The only thing he really pays much mind to is his hockey equipment.”

Zach sputters a token, “I am NOT that bad—“ but it dies on his lips when Ryan glares at him. “Stop fussing, you’ll have plenty of time to reorganize and pack your stuff before we head home. Mom and Dad were talking about going to dinner, do you want to come with, or are your parents expecting you?”

Ryan’s dad probably wants to talk to him. Ryan can’t think of anything he wants less, following their loss to Canada in the quarterfinals and then to Finland in the bronze medal game.

He puts down the shirt he was folding and reaches for his Team USA jacket. “Sure, where were you thinking?”

 

3\. 20 June 2003, Nashville, Tennessee, United States

How is it even possible? Ryan just went to the pool for an hour. Everything had been neat when he left: beds made; clothes folded and neatly stowed in a single drawer of the dresser; toiletries aligned on the sink; suit, tie, and pressed shirt hanging in the closet, ready for tomorrow.

It looks like a bomb went off, exploding a mix of UND green and Team USA red-white-and-blue onto every flat surface.

Obviously, Zach has arrived.

 

4\. 5 January 2004, Helsinki, Finland 

“Do you think we’ll ever get to do this again?” 

“Next year, and the year after that, and then Worlds.” It’s easy, with a medal around his neck, a university team looking to head to the Frozen Four just like Zach’s, and Zach’s heartbeat thrumming quietly under his chin, to be optimistic.

Zach stays quiet for a long time. If his hand hadn’t been moving, fingertips rubbing the spot behind Ryan’s ear that makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise, Ryan might think he’s fallen asleep.

“I’m probably not going to go back after this season is over. To UND, I mean. And if the Devils don’t release me…”

Yeah, no, Ryan holds no illusions about Lou Lamoriello’s priorities when it comes to roster decisions. 

He doesn’t really have any illusions about what they’re doing, either. The NHL is a business, and you can never say never, but they’re probably the closest they’ll ever be to each other, distance-wise, until or unless they are traded or retire. Zach’ll be in the Eastern Conference, and for all that Nashville isn’t that far from Jersey, it’s a separate conference with almost no overlap in schedule. 

Ryan’s not sentimental. Even so, he carefully folds a Fighting Sioux t-shirt and tucks it into his duffel when he packs up and heads home. Zach’ll never miss it.

 

5\. 11 June 2012, Los Angeles, California, USA 

It’s generally not his policy to clean up after Zach. In the decade they’ve been doing this only-when-they’re-in-the-same-place-for-tourneys thing, it hasn’t been a huge issue. A couple of days, a week or two, and he could always go back to the room he’d been assigned rather than sharing messy space with Zach.

But.

Ryan thinks about Crosby watching tonight’s shitshow of a game from the luxury boxes at Staples and how he needs a winger, about the Devils paying a ridiculous amount of salary, draft picks, and fines to get Kovalchuk when they already had a top line left wing, about playing with Zach (and against Shea, but he’s trying not to think about Shea) in Vancouver, about their contracts and free agency. This summer might be their only chance. And if it is, his policy and the compromises he and Zach are willing to make will have to change.

 

+1. 4 September 2016, Columbus, Ohio, USA

Zach’s first impulse is to dump his bag, shed his clothes, and burrow under the covers. Press ran long, questions about not wearing a letter, about whether his back is really healed, if he’s ready for play and for contact; Torts, Joe and Ryan were still taking questions when he escaped. He’s not superstitious, but he has a pregame routine that starts with a ninety-minute nap, and he doesn’t want to fuck with it. Not even for the manufactured drama of pre-competition World Cup of Hockey exhibition play. 

But he pauses long enough to prop his carry-on on the stand that sits in the closet and hangs the suit bag that holds his and Ryan’s suits, removes the pressed shirts and checks them for wrinkles. Instead of shucking his Team USA shirt and shorts in a pile, he drapes them neatly over the back of the chair before climbing into bed. 

Ryan will probably skate half the game; he’s gonna need a good nap too.

**Author's Note:**

> I know they didn't actually room together before Sochi. Artistic license, okay? Just go with me, here. <3


End file.
